Hunted Hunter
by SamuelWeston
Summary: A story told by a mercenary to the rest of the crew. Connected to Mechanic. One Shot.


_August 15, 1991_

 _Caucus Mountain range_

 _Chechnya_

The cave was small. It was also a death trap despite the bit of cover it gave him. All it would take is for it to see him and fire... whatever the fuck that thing was into it. He had done some cagey ops in his time as a mercenary, but this wasn't right. It didn't feel right when he took the job, and it hadn't felt any better as he gathered a team of thirty men. It definitely didn't feel right now that he was the only one left alive.

Panama 1981, Colombia 1982, Somalia 1984. These were his worst memories, and they were pleasant compared to what this was. He was injured, and that thing was as well. It had killed twelve men before it even got a scratch on it, and that is what scared him the most. Men with automatic weaponry, grenade launchers, and a mother fucking RPG. God his side hurt from that burn.

The only glimpse he got of it showed seven feet of pure ugly and fear. It seemed like it was also wearing a helmet. Not to mention some kind of metal body armor that pretty much couldn't be scratched by a 5.56. Not to mention 7.62x39, 7.62x51, .30-06, 12 Gauge slugs, and a 40mm grenade. The only thing that had yet to be fired at it was the RPG-7, and he didn't have to much hope of its success. The problem was that he couldn't see it long enough to shoot more than a single burst at it.

He grunted hard as he forced his finger back into place. Firing the thumper one handed like that hadn't been the smartest idea. It at least distracted it enough to find a place to hide and get his head together. But it was time to move.

The forest was a fucking killzone. Too many blind spots from boulders and copses of trees. He should have known that when the fucking Soviet Government was hiring mercenaries instead of sending in the Red Army that it wasn't a good job. He had never seen that many zeros behind a number though, he couldn't help taking it. Damn, his left ankle had to be broken instead of just sprained.

Hunt down some unknown entity that attacked an armored convoy. It had killed almost everyone and had taken skulls, including the spine, as trophies. More than likely some blitzed rebels who wanted to scare the ever loving fuck out of the Kremlin and demoralize every soldier they could. Must have worked given the mercs. This thing sure as hell wasn't a rebel though. It wasn't even human.

A twig snapping sent him to the ground. He knew that his breathing threatened to give him away. He knew that the grip he was putting on the old M16s handguard threatened to break it. He was wearing out from lugging that launcher, but he at least wanted a chance at it. He wasn't going to out last it at this rate, and he didn't know if he could out think it.

The way it tracked him during the dark meant it had to have some kind of night vision. The precision it tracked him with made it seem like it could see heat. That was scarier than any thought that he had come up with so far. He knew one thing for sure about it. It was hunting him. And he knew that it wasn't stopping.

He moved slowly. Every noise making him jump and hide. He knew that it was there, and that it was watching. Waiting. Seeking the point where the kill would be the sweetest. Where the kill blow would come from, how it would come, and if he would see it, he didn't know any of this.

Something smelled. Burnt flesh, and something coppery. Blood? It had to be close. The grenade must have had some effect on the thing. Follow the smell and kill it. Or run and survive. Could he run though? This thing was fast, and could track. It had to die. It definitely had to die.

What did he have. A single 93mm HEAT rocket, another 20rd mag, and a few .357s. Hopefully enough, probably not. It was starting to get a little hard to stay alert. He must have hit his head somewhere. Might as well let it see him. He was probably dead anyways.

He trailed up to a small rocky clearing where the smell was the strongest. There it was. His grenade had taken its left arm off, amazing that it had. It looked like it was having just as much pain as he was. Wasn't much point in overkill. He sat the launcher down and sat on a rock across from it. It looked up. It had taken its helmet off at some point.

Four jaws, dark eyes, and dreadlocks. It was ugly, but tired looking. Scars covered its body. It has seen many battles and survived. It knew that its time had come.

"VIC...TOR," it said pointing at him.

"Victor of what? Was this a game to you? Kill people, take their head as a trophy? I'm just a mercenary, life doesn't have much value to me, but this? This was pointless."

He drew the revolver off his thigh. It took most of his remaining strength to raise it and cock the hammer. The trigger was the easiest part of the entire thing.

* * *

"Bullshit Ethan. That sounds like some cheesy action movie plot. Where did you come up with that crock," Revy laughed at the end.

"Revy, I don't lie. At least not that grandly. I spent two days getting out of that forest. As far as the Soviets in charge of that op were concerned I was killed and that thing just went a way," Ethan came back.

"Come on Dutch, back me up. Some weird beast that you can't see and shoots giant balls of heat that vaporize people, honestly."

Rock kicked in, "I don't know Revy, I have heard things that sounded even more preposterous."

"I heard stories similar in Vietnam. Some beast would pop up and decimate a VC or NVA position. Body parts would be missing, strange burn marks, and once a Beret came back babbling about some Apex Predator that was hunting him. Poor man jacked a MP's Colt and ended it there," Dutch said solemnly.

 **A/N: In honor of the new Predator movie coming I decided to write this. Ethan is a skilled and fearless combatant, but no matter what there will always be something better than you out there. Luck is sometimes the only way a man survives. But as to whether the event happened or Ethan did come up with it for fun, we may never know.**

 **P.S. Any review that is just a long, strange, unreadable string of characters will be immediately deleted. There is no place for that, and I am interested in reviews that have some message to them, even if it says Fuck You.**


End file.
